The Last Year
by Marionettes
Summary: The rebels failed. Now, it's the 100 Annual Hunger Games and the Capitol must show the people of Panem the cost of rebelling, and more importantly, failing.
1. One

This is a one-shot that I wrote in about ten minutes about an idea I had for the fourth Quarter Quell of _The Hunger Games_ by Suzanne Collins.

_Catching Fire_ happened as it did, but it's attempts were easily thwarted by the capital. This takes place in the 100th Annual Hunger Games. All of the tributes who contribued in the 75th Hunger Game were killed even if they won or survived. And thus our story begins...

--

I have always dreaded this year. Ever since the rebellions of the 74th Hunger Games were stifled and the third Quarter Quell was not a revolt, but an example, the 100th Quell would be important. That much I know.

Once the "mutinous radicals" were put at bay, the Games were more intense than ever. And the coming Quell would have to prove to everyone that the capitol was all powerful. I didn't know what more could happen that could be more dramatic than before.

I remember being told that the first year, people elected their tributes. The second quarter quell, they doubled the amount of tributes. The third quarter quell was reaped from existing victors…and the fourth quarter quell was happening right now.

"This year, at the Fourth Quarter Quell, the 100th Annual Hunger Games, individual tributes are not to be selected. The two names pulled from the reaping will each nominate a family," President Snow announces. My eyes flash open. Two people could send certainly more than five people to an almost certain death. Who knew how many people were going to die at this quell? I continue to watch in horror. "Then the families selected will come to the Capitol and compete in the annual Hunger Games and all will proceed as normal."

And then the reapings begin. Being from District Four, we wouldn't have much time to contemplate what was going to happen. The only nice thing about this year was that in the Career districts, people don't want to be picked, they want their friends to be picked, and you couldn't volunteer so it went much more quickly. There is a family of three selected and a family of five selected from District One and a family of two and a family of four from District Two. District Three was a blur for me and I am just hoping to get through another year.

"Ladies first, as usual!" Effie Trinket smiles. Having Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark go through, even though they were "mutinous radicals", she had been promoted to District Four. "I nominating person for one family is…"

I hear my name. Of course, I think to myself. It was destined to happen. I know I'd never make it out of the reaping age alive. Over one-hundred tesserae, it was nearly impossible. I stand up calmly and go up to the platform to call out a name of a family. I take a long walk, trying to think who I would call. A pin could have dropped and all of Panem would have heard it. Everyone is holding their breath. Then I have an idea. It wouldn't make sense to most, but I'd give it a try because of the desperation of everyone in the audience. No one had tried it, and it hadn't been contradicted, so I'll give it a try.

"So, who will you nominate?" Trinket askes with a theatrical smile.

I grin back at her and say, "I nominate my family."

I felt the breath of the entire audience exhale, and Trinket takes in a gasp. I eye the President who says nothing in objection. Trinket looks at the slip of paper she chose and calls out for my family, and I smile inside. I will be punished, but it will save one miserable family from having to die this year.

"Please name your direct family," Trinket grits through her teeth, loud enough to hear, but not unfemininely loud.

"I am an orphan, Ms. Trinket," I say. I could see Snow's jaw drop and go up to the chair for the tributes and sat down, waiting for the boy to be chosen. I am satisfied. I have saved at minimum, two people from dying. Now I had to go, and face my own death. Survival was zero percent for me, but I'd give it my all and certainly not go down trying.

* * *

I think I actually WILL continue, so add an alert if you're interested! Reviews are welcome and please check out my other stories!

Thanks for reading,  
Marionettes


	2. Two

Two

Seven chairs are provided in two rows of three and four. I sit in the first for of three in the middle. Trinket then calls for a boy. I have a gut feeling that the next person would do the same thing I did. The name Trinket calls is Thoran Flaxx. He looks about thirteen. Not quite young enough to get the crowd's sympathy. Of course, it doesn't really matter this year, because Thoran Flaxx wouldn't be going to the Games, he will be sending someone to the Games.

"I...I nominate the Fauscher family," he whispers into the microphone. Two people stand up. They are both boys. One has dirty blonde hair and looked about twenty-three and the other is ghostly pale with beautiful golden hair. He looks about seventeen, a reapable age. They are probably relatives of Finnick Odair, they look good enough to be relatives.

"Introduce yourselves please," Trinket says brightly. The older one says his name is Daeme and the younger one calls himself Marec. "Are you brothers or father and son? Tell us about yourselves?"

I watch them carefully. I am pretty sure I've seen Marec Fauscher before. Curious that Trinket didn't asked me about myself. Probably because I'd broken, protocol, so she had to make me stand out by skipping over me. They are brothers. Both of their parents died during the mass flooding fourteen years ago. Daeme would have been about nine and Marec, about five.

"Well, that's in from District Four, and here's President Snow with the Treaty of Treason!" Trinket says vibrantly. The cameras all leave and Snow begins to dutifully read the treaty. I had no one to go to, so when the audience begins to disperse, I just stand behind and help them clean up the mess. I try to think about how I will die, but that's no fun. I try to think about how I will win, but that is impossible. I am no contender. Unless someone drags me along through the entire game and helps me survive, I will most likely die at the Cornucopia.

"Hi, I know you from school. I'm Marec," the younger, blonde boy says.

"I heard your introduction," I spit out. He nods and bends down to help me fold up the bleachers that the reapable aged children sat on. I don't say anything. If he feels it was awkward or uncomfortable, than that is his fault. Maybe I am weakening our chances of survival, but I frankly don't give a damn. But then, maybe this boy was my only link to winning. He'll probably have dozens of women lining up to give Odair their money.

"Listen, I think you have a chance of winning this, and I want to help you," Marec says finally, when the last bleacher is folded. I glare at him. Flattery is not going to let him get around me, but then, I'm not going to be a suck and and let him walk all over me. "I've seen you at the docks and I've seen you-"

"So what I could kill someone with a spear or a trident. Everyone is going to look at me, and think, Finnick Odair-prodigy. She's not going to last a moment in the arena," I spit out. He shakes his head, and I continued. "Listen, I shouldn't have picked myself. I should have picked someone else who had a sporting chance! All I'm going to do is get myself killed!"

"That's what the Hunger Games are about," he replies, suddenly fired up with anger as well. "What do you think this was all about? You're supposed to be killed! Do you know why I was picked? Do you know what Daeme and I were picked? Well, here's why-"

"Come on. Can't have you two yelling at each other! You're going to be polite while in each other's company," Trinket says, her voice already strained. She's obviously gathered that we were fighters. Damn right we are. We have to be fighters, or we won't last a moment. Common instinct, after all, is to die fighting or not die at all.

* * *

Okay...my little one shot is not a story!! I hope you have liked my story and have the time to review it!

Thanks for reading  
Marionettes


	3. Three

Three

The train is hell. What did I expect? Marec and I get in another fight and his brother, Daeme, is going into a coma or something. The shock is finally getting to him. But at least there's food. It's amazing. The orphanage food is shit and I wouldn't even give it to the beggars from District 11.

"So, tell us about you," Odair asks. We met our mentors. Luckily, a few years ago, District Four had another female victor so I wouldn't have to be mentored by Annie Cresta, who amazingly was still alive.

"Any talents?" the female victor, Carmen Delorus, asks. "Anything at all that might help you survive in the arena?"

I hesitate, but that son-of-a-bitch Marec speaks first. "She can kill anything with a spear or trident." Odair glances at me, so does Delorus. I writh under their gaze as Marec c0ntinues on about his brother's talents, as well as his. Their gaze never leaves me.

"We should switch tributes Carmen," Odair murmures. Marec obviously heard him and grimaces. He excuses himself from the table once Marec is done with his speech and taps me on the shoulder. I stand up and silently follow, knowing that Marec is probably cursing me out under his breath.

He guides me to a fairly empty cart filled with some of the most beautifully crafted spears and trident's I'd ever seen. One was even gilded with gold. Another one that caught my eye was a battered, aged once-beautiful trident with the tips stained red. I guess it was the trident Odair had received in the arena. I hadn't known they could take stuff out of the arena.

"I'd like to see you with a spear," he says, throwing one to me as he sets up a battered, torn dummy about eight feet away from me. I glare at him and hurl the spear at the dummy once he's a safe distance away. The shaft is embedded about half way through the dummy right where his heart would have been if the dummy had one. Odair gives a low whistle and passes me a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

"I can't shoot."

"You're shooting anyways," he answers calmly. "Do you know how to knock an arrow?"

"Yes-er, I mean no," I studder. He can't know. If he knew, all would be ruined. "It's illegal. I can only throw a spear because I've been working at the dock lately."

"Lately, you've developed quite a bit of skill," he replies and gesetured towards the dummy. I sigh and knock an arrow, pull back and release the string. I wasn't trying to impress him, but I had my marker off a bit to the right so the arrow hit just so it split the shaft of the spear. He gives me a clap on the back and says, "I think we've got a winner. If you're as good as Katniss, you'll do fine. Maybe I can get Tessa to dye your hair blonde…"

I stare at him. I like my hair the way it was, but then, maybe the children at the orphanage won't have to watch me get killed if they don't recognize me…

"What did you do?" Marec demands. I wave it off and close the door between our rooms. It is 8 pm and I am tired as hell already. I lock it just to be safe. A few minutes later, I hear a picking sound and the door swings open. Marec is standing in the door frame grinning. I stare at him dumbly and he comes to sit on the corner of my bed. Almost gently, he asks, "What did you do?"

"Threw a spear. Shot an arrow," I say. I can just barely see a dim outline of his figure. "Now get out of my room."

Instead, he lies down at the foot of the bed, looking at the ceiling. I am tempted to kick him, but he looks as if he was deep in thought, and it was probably illegal as well.

"Have you ever seen the 74th Hunger Games re-runs?" he inquires finally. I shake my head.

"Well, Peeta, Katniss' husband-" he begins.

"I'm no idiot. I know Mellark and Everdeen are…were."

"Last names? No. Don't answer that. Listen, during Peeta's interview, he talked about his love for Katniss," Marec tells me and thus begins to relay the entire interview to me because I'd never seen it. At this point, I'm sitting up as if he's my father and he's telling me the story of how he fell in love or something. Then it sinks in what he's much to shy to say straight.

"So pretty much, you're telling me that you have the same problem?" I manage to get out. He abruptly stops talking. Pauses, and nods as if it was painful. "I won't be a replay of the rebels. No. I have-"

"Have what? Too much to loose? Few days ago, you told me yourself you were no contender," he asks. He moves up closer towards the head of the bed. I really do not want to hear this and pull my sheets up and turn away from him.

"I have…Odair has confidence that I can win. But I'm already a living, breathing, walking cliché with the spear-throwing and the shooting and the self-sacrificing thing with tributing myself. I…I can't do that for you Marec…I…I'm sorry, but I just can't," I say, my voice was beginning to become strained. I try to ignore it. The one thing I do notice is that I don't deny him. I am undecided and I am determined enough to just leave it there. Maybe interviews or something else will change my mind, but not tonight.

* * *

Hope you like it and I hope you will continue to keep reading. Also, I hope you take the time to review.

Thanks for reading!!!  
Marionettes


	4. Four

Yes. I am putting this at the beginning of the story...I want to know if you guys think my main character (who I am NOT planning to give a name) and Marec are too similiar to Katniss + Peeta. Also, I need some costume ideas, I have a few work-in-progress, but nothing major. (Also arena ideas...)

Anyways, I hope you like this chapter and will take the time to review at the end (hopefully answering some of the questions above)  
Marionettes

* * *

Four

"Where were you last night Marec?" Daeme says. It's the first I'd heard him talk. So Marec hadn't gone back to his room…which ment he stayed in my room. He is going to have some explaining to do.

"You slept in my room?" I say coldly.

"You slept in her room!" Daeme shouts.

"Who slept in whose room?" Delores pokes her head out. Daeme is quite a shouted, you have to give him that.

"Someone was sleeping in someone's room?" Odair questions and shoots me a look.

"Ugh. Will all of you listen?" Marec glared at all of them, pointedly avoiding my gaze. Then Odair understands what happened and shakes his head. Marec shuts up and Odair suggests they all get dressed and head to breakfast quite civically.

Trinket bounces to our table after we've sat down and ordered. No one wants to explain to the ecstatic woman what happened. We didn't talk and ate breakfast silently. Trinket was the only one trying to make an effort to get us to speak. Marec obviously doesn't want to talk about it and Daeme is only going to talk if Marec brought it up. Delores is just confused and from the look in his eye, I know that he was going to question Marec and I after. For now, he seems content just to eat breakfast.

"Okay, well, training begin at one, so don't be late, I'll see you guys later," Trinket smiles. We nod and all stand up and begin to leave the table. Odair grabs my arm and pulls me back. I can see Marec turn his head to see us talking as he walks away.

"What happened?" he says. "If you're sleeping together-"

"We're not sleeping together. He just wanted to know what I did with you with the spear and stuff," I say innocently.

"And ended up staying the night?" he replies sarcastically.

"You know, you've grown quite cynical over the past few years," I snap back. I'm not really in the mood for this.

"Well that's what happens when you see the reincarnations of some of your good friends who died at the capitol's hands," Odair snaps. I stop. It made sense now, or at least some of it. I can see how he sees Katniss in me, and maybe a bit of himself. Marec too, closely relates with Peeta…and now this. Odair must be beside himself.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't die in the arena. Don't do anything stupid."

"Well, I'm not particularly interested in dying in the arena," I tell him briskly. He grimaces and I continue neutrally, "What about Marec? Was Mellark not as important to you."

"For different reasons, Marec will-" he began. Marec had stayed in the room and listened to our conversation. I could feel the color rising to my cheeks.

"What about me?" he says, honestly sounding curious. I try not to meet his eye and fail pretty miserably. Odair says nothing. "Did you just not like Peeta? Was he too good? Was he…too kind?"

"…you wouldn't understand," Odair mumbles.

"Are you going to favor her over me?" Marec asked. "The odds are even less in my favor I suppose."

"The odds have been in-" Odair begins.

"No. Don't lie. They've always been in her favor," he spits out, and storms away after glaring at me. I stand there, slightly confused as what to do.

"What did he tell you? It's important, so don't lie," Odair insists.

"That he was felt for me like Mellark felt for Everdeen."

Odair sighs and departs from the room, leaving me alone until I have the courage to go back to face Marec or to wander around till one.

"I want to apologize Marec," I say slowly. Surely he understands how painful it is for me. He must know me. But apparently he doesn't and chooses not to answer. "Marec, if it makes you feel any better, I'm going to die in the arena."

"Why would I want you to die? Don't you understand?" Marec asks me softly, his previous anger clearly gone. I stare at him. I've been doing a lot of dumb staring lately. I feel so clueless outside of orphanage or the docks. I had always been silent at school.

"Well, I want to apologize anyways," I say stiffly. He shakes his head and sighs and turns his back to me. I am dismissed, but I don't go. "Apology accepted?"

"Apology not recognized," he replies with a rigid voice. I nod and once more he turns his back to me. I finally leave as I see the clock hit 12:45. Fifteen minutes till training begins. This games had been slightly altered because the designers had been so many people costume, they were giving them a few extra days to think about them. So training began early so we wouldn't be bored while they made our costumes.


	5. Five

Five

We are given a brief orientation. Odair and Delorus gave us no instruction on how to show ourselves to the other tributes. I go to the archery station to try to improve my aim. I work with moving targets for a while then leave much to the teacher's dismay.

Marec and Daeme were sitting together at the knot tying station. Surely they know how to tie a knot from the docks! I go to the edible plants station and listen to a speech on medicinal herbs that aren't edible. It's useful. I start leafing through a small booklet on actually edible.

I finally get the courage to approach the combat area. There is a mass amount of people there all thrusting swords and swinging maces and things. I pick out a spear and the trainer pairs me with a thin brunette. I remember seeing her being reaped by herself from District Three who's carrying a long sword. I doubt she can use it well.

We circle each other for a few moments and then she lunged in and I quickly slide to the right and embed the spearhead into her stomach, not piercing the skin, but enough to let her know she'd be dead. She wasn't incredibly good. She would most likely die at the Cornucopia unless she teamed with someone.

"I'm Demarex," she says. I nod as the trainer brings another person for me to practice with. It was one of the boys who had been reaped from District One. I have no idea what his name is. He carries a sword too.

I can tell right off the bat that he's much more talented than the previous girl. He spends less time looking at my face and more time looking at my torso to give away my move. I decide to let him make the first move. When he finally lunges in, I am ready and quickly dodge to the left just barely missing what could have been a fatal wound and then I give a quick dive my spear quickly in just like I had done with Demarex. He had been watching and jumped back and then bought his sword around to break the shaft of the spear. If it had broken, he would have won, but I had brought the spear just out of reach before he landed the blow.

In the arena, he is going to be hard to kill…but it doesn't matter because I'm going to be dead by the time anyone will have to face him in a life-or-death face of. Then before I know it, I've already got him on the ground, his sword flung to the side and the spearhead at his neck. Maybe I can win this thing.

"Anyone else want to step up?" the trainer calls. About half of the hands shoot up, the other half look to scared to try. It is at that point when I realize that many of the tributes have come to see me with this spear.

"It's okay. I'm going to go to some other station," I tell the trainer. He looks confused for a moment, and then disappointed. I glance at Marec to see his reaction. He is lost in thought and doesn't say anything. Daeme, however, looks impressed. I am supprised such a crowd arrived just to watch one match. Maybe this is going to be easier than I think.

Very quietly, I go to the fire-starting station. I knew how to make a basic fire but everything changes in the arena so might as well be solid on fire starting. I stay there for the rest of the period, out of sight of the Gamemakers. I have had enough attention for a few decades, that's for sure.

Finally, the training time was over - Just an hour to dinner. I am not sure what Mareec or Daeme will say to Delorus or Odair, but it is sure to be bad. I am number one on everybody's hit list. The three of us go silently to lunch.

"Tomorrow will be the chariot rides and such," Odair finally broke the silence of our table. "They've decided instead of having everyone, each family nominated will have one person represent them in the actual chariot ride thing."

"So I have to go," I say. Odair nods. Marec, of course, offers to go. We all disperse from the table and go to our rooms. It's about eight at night, too early to go to bed. Through the wall I can hear them talking quietly.

"You're a playback Marec. Nothing special," Daeme says.

"But it's honestly true," Marec replies. Good intentions and all, I can't help but despise him for it. "Play it down, ignore it even, nothing happens. I bring it up and maybe we have a chance off, of all coming home, the Capitol hunts us down and kills us anyways."

"Either way we're dead, you mean," Daeme clarifies almost painfully. I am glad I had no family to bring, to tell them that they're going to die. I remember some families had infants, barely one year old. They were all going to die.

"If we go back, we'll have to face Thoran."

"We'll suffer through it."

"I'd rather die than face Thoran again," Marec says and I am curious here. Marec had begun to mention as to why Flaxx had chosen them, but had been abruptly cut off.

"Think about it in the morning. I'm getting tired," Daeme says. I let out a sigh. "And your little sweetheart has been listening through the walls."

I sigh again and close my eyes.

* * *

Sorry bout the slow update. It's been a busy holiday.

And no, you will NOT figure out why Thoran Flaxx picked Daeme and Marec.

Hope you like it!!!  
Marionettes


	6. Six

Six

Following morning is all preparations for the introduction of all the tributes. I cannot even remember my stylist's name and suddenly we're dressed in something like Odair was dressed in for the 75th Quarter Quell. I'm sure the Capitol will be unhappy at the reminder.

The parade flies by and then suddenly noon and we're sitting in line waiting to do something for the judges. I have absolutely no idea what I am going to do, nor what Marec or Daeme will do. I can hardly think about the interviews. I'm not quite sure what they're doing, but I am fairly sure that they have screwed up the order of all of this, the interviews, the performance for the judges and the introduction to the Capitol and all that, but what did it matter? Surely this would be my last Hunger Game.

"What are you going to do?" Marec asks.

"I have no idea. You?" I reply. He shrugs as Daeme's name is called.

-

I have no idea what Daeme or Marec did. I know what I did and I know exactly what I will recieve. When they flash the scores, I almost burst out in laughter but the look on Odair and Delorus' faces tell me everything: Stop. Mostly stop the rebellious behavior. I'm sure if I survive, the capitol will have my head by the end of the year. Luckily, I'll probably die in the arena.

"What did you do?" Marec asks. I shake my head and focus on my meal. I am hungry anyways so it isn't that hard. Luckily, the others aren't prying and I am able to get through dinner without much commotion.

Of course, when I am about to get in my bed and fall asleep, up pops Marec in my door. I'm about ready to strangle him, but it's against the law so I don't. He just sits at the corner of my bed and watches me. There's been a lot of silent, mutual conversations.

"I didn't do anything."

"That's what I figured," he agrees, understanding luckily. I'm sad to think that he'll probably die in the arena, and if he doesn't, that I will. "They changed the dates. Tomorrow is the interview and day after that will be the Hunger Games."

"Yeah. I heard about that. They finished the arena sooner than they thought," I reply. He nods and scoots closer. I glare but he moves closer anyways. I silently remind myself that Mellark and Everdeen were different, but all I can remember is their time in the arena. They survived because of their romance.

"We'd be different, trust me," Marec says. My expression must have given away my thoughts. I sigh and he leans against the headboard, uncomfortably close. "And no, I'm not going to move."

"You would if I had a spear," I mutter. He chuckles and I close my eyes. Might as well get some sleep. My eyes flutter shut.

-

I wake up, and he's still there- bright-eyed and smiling. I would swear he didn't get a wink of sleep. I am about to say something when Daeme comes in.

"Thought so," he murmurs and then goes back to their side. I don't say anything to either of them. Luckily, Marec has enough sense to leave the room while I get dressed. Marec and Daeme meet me outside our joint rooms in the morning. We eat a quick breakfast in silence and are handed off to our stylists.

Already I don't like my stylist. The prep team trim my hair slightly and leave. Attachment is nonexistent between my prep team and me. My stylist works quickly. He has put me in a pale blue dress. It is a glittery fabric and other than that, it is not very elaborate. He also gives me a bracelet to wear that I cannot help but admire. It is a gold band about an inch wide with beautifully blue gems, the largest one being a stunning lapis lazuli.

"Its simple," he says while examining his work. The dress is very simple. But it is still very beautiful.

Marec and Daeme are both dressed in matching midnight blue suits. As we line up for the interviews, I notice that many of the families are dressed alike. Maybe to help distinguish them from other families since there were so many.

The interviews will be painful to sit through, I am sure.

* * *

Sorry for the gap, but I'm super busy. It was brought to my attention that the pre-Games stuff was pretty boring, and frankly, I think it's boring too so I'm skipping it. The Games will be plenty exciting, so stay tuned!! The arena will absolutely blow everything out of the water, especially what the narrator does!!!

Sorry about the short chapter, but it was the only breakoff that worked,  
Marionettes


	7. Seven

Seven

_ The idea comes to me late at night. It is just as well because I cannot sleep the night before the Games. Too many thoughts swirl around my head, but this one is so crazy, it just might work._

_-_

Sixty seconds, maybe just enough time for this to work. I numbly get into the clothes we have to wear. They're standard clothes. The fabric is high quality, but it unfortunately will not be very warm.

We will be in the arena within moments and I, eerily, cannot wait. My plan will be brilliant if it works, and hopefully the other tributes will be too stunned to copy me.

We are on our plates and I take a split second to take in the surroundings. For one thing, I'm alone. I am in a small chamber with two corridors. One is behind me that leads to who knows where, and the other leads to an enormous chamber with the Cornucopia.

From what I gather, the other tributes are all in separate chambers. The Cornucopia room must be enormous if there are at least 40 miniature corridors leading to it. I wonder what the passageway behind me leads to, but I want to see if my plan will work.

The mines, are most likely not activated by weight. What happens if an animal in the arena just so happened to be walking around the Cornucopia and set of the mines? This question lead me to think last night that the mines are activated by the plates. If you step off the plate, the weight on the plate is lowered so the mines will react. So what if you jump off?

-

The mines take seven seconds to blow. Fifty seconds to get to the Cornucopia and back out. The dust is clearing and four seconds later I'm standing in the Cornucopia room. I am betting that the other tributes think a young child accidentally stepped off his or her plate. They are most likely counting. I can imagine the confusion in the Capitol. This genius labyrinth arena gives me just what I need.

Maybe I am a competitor.

I have no idea which corridor leads to Daeme or Marec, but all I know is that I'm going back through the corridor I came through. Twelve seconds later, I'm at the Cornucopia grabbing whatever I can get my hands on.

There is a bow. And a spear. Just for me. I grab them both and a spare bow. Its lower quality but the string might come in handy. I grab four backpacks and sling them over my shoulder and a few small packs and what looks like a medicine kit. If someone copied what I did, they could well easily kill me now.

"Someone's at the Cornucopia!" I hear some shout. Now is a good time to get out. of the Cornucopia, I tell myself. I have 12 seconds to get back to my corridor.

The mine expolosion was huge, but it hadn't made a dent in the walls of the labyrinth. Whatever the arena was made out of, it would hold almost anything, I am guessing.

The gong goes off. I look back briefly to see tributes of all ages sprinting and walking to the Cornucopia. The focus, finally, is off me. My little parade will probably be replayed for years to come. The corridor that leads away from the Cornucopia splits two ways. A ramp that goes up and a ramp that goes down. High ground never hurt, so I go up. Going up, alas, leads to another room like the one the Cornucopia sat in. More corridors lead out of this. I see other tributes coming up the ramps. I pull an arrow of the sheath and aim an arrow at someone coming up the ramp in front of me.

It is a boy who looks about seventeen. At least he is up reapable age. I am not planning on thinking of killing anyone very young, or very old. He gasps and puts his hands up to block the incoming arrow, but it was almost point blank distance and I turn away before it even pierces his body. The look in his eyes would be unbearable, so might as well avoid it all together. When I hear him stop struggling, I turn around, close his eyes and pull the arrow out of his body.

There were a few more heads coming up the ramps. Both young, but still reapable. I wait for the first one to come up. I aim an arrow and turn to the other one. I can hear the young girl whimper, but now is no time to be feeling sympathetic. All I can think of is the young girls at the orphanage.

The other girl goes down and I run up to them to pull the arrows out. Feeling short on time, I run into another corridor. I want water and a place to look at what is in the packs I grabbed from the Cornucopia. So far, the arena is just a maze spanning several floors. that is, until I find a button. It is bright red and said "Do not press". Of course I press it anyways.

Behind the wall it is in, I can hear gears moving. The corridor I'm in jerks to the left and I am suddenly connected with another corridor, one that was not there before. At the end of it, I can see a pool of water. I smile, and push the button again and slip into the corridor with water before it completely closes off.

* * *

Hehehe. Hows THAT Capitol!?!??!!?! I had this idea a while ago and really wanted to write about it, the arena as well as the mine idea. But they make sense to me, so why wouldn't they work?

Here is the arena in more depth: it is a massive tunnel network with a few massive chambers. The way its going to be planned out is that there are two "sets" of corridors that are more or less seperate except for a few places that they connect that can be activated by buttons, the narrator luckily managed to stumble across one of the four.

More in depth the story: There are 58 tributes. As of now, I have a list of twenty-one names of tributes to keep my sanity otherwise this story will be CONFUSING.

**QUESTION THAT I AM ASKING MEH READERS: Do you think I should switch perspective?** Because it would be interested. I would go into a younger tribute, of non-reapable age, a nine year old maybe. It would be INCREDIBLY DEPRESSING, but interesting nevertheless.

Thanks for reading!!!!  
Marionettes


	8. Eight

Eight

"Lucky you," I tell myself and sit down near the water's edge. I'm not thirsty yet, but I wash my face and clean off the three arrows. All together, I have twenty arrows. I unstring both bows and put the strings in the pocket of my pants. I hear lots of sound outside of my annex and try to ignore it as I unpack my four bags. One thing that the Gamemakers probably didn't factor in the sounds. I am sure that many tributes, especially the younger ones, will be rabid from the cries and the dying people. The Cornucopia will be gory with so many competitors, I am sure.

It is now that I begin to let my thoughts wander, to Marec specifically. Is he alive is the first question that comes to mind. The Cornucopia fight should be close to over and the cannons ought to be going off. I'm not sure how many people have died yet but the number will be pretty high, I am sure that it will be massive. They might delay the anthem they will have so many faces to show. Which brings me to another question: No sky. No sky to project the faces on. How will they do it?

I unpack the bags to find some iodine, lots of food packages, a small box of matches, two water flasks, a sleeping bag, a warm jacket. The majority of what I have is food. Almost the entire content of two of the backpacks are food. I quickly pack them back up and continue to explore this alternative set of hallways.

Then the cannons start firing. One, two, three, four, five, six...on and on until I count twenty-one. I killed seventh of them. I wonder if Marec is alive. I have no way of knowing, they're not projecting faces on the walls.

There is a silence after the cannon and surprisingly enough, the faces start appearing on the walls. This arena is utterly unforgettable. I see the faces. I recognize a few. I am pretty sure all the tributes from District Eleven have died. About half from District Twelve, Ten, and Eight have all died. I wish I knew were Marec and Daeme were.

--

I sleep surprisingly easy. I am surprised the Gamemakers haven't done something to me to make me kill someone. Maybe I pleased them on the first day. Before they do something to make move, I decide to move now. Plus I am quite curious about this arena. I am just about packed up when the hallway begins shifting- someone pressed the button on the other side.

I quickly grab my bow and aim an arrow at the opening, ready to loose an arrow at whoever it is. I am surely being broadcasted right now. But I don't shoot, because it's Marec. I drop my bow to the ground and run up to him and give him a hug.

I can sense his confusion, but the arena makes me miss him.

"I was so worried about you," I whisper into his ear.

"Where you the one at the Cornucopia?" Marec asks. I nod. His eyes are envious but still proud. "How did you do it? I heard a massive explosion and then saw you at the Cornucopia with a lot of stuff." He can see all my stuff behind me.

"I'll explain later...where's Daeme?" I ask. He shrugs. "Come on. I'm dying to explore the arena."

"Its amazing, isn't it?" he admits and follows me. I push the button again to close the hallway and pick up my supplies. I hand him two backpacks. "This is amazing..."

I nod and start walking down the hallway. Marec follows me in silence. The only sound you can hear is his our footsteps.

"How do tributes have you killed?" Marec asks. I hold up three fingers. He whistles and we continue on in a silence through the labyrinth.

I don't want to say something, but surely the cameras are on us, so I try to think of something to say. I take the longest time to think of something, but by that time, Marec has something to say.

"We should find Daeme."

"Neither of us have any idea where he is," I reply and keep walking. I can tell Marec has stopped following me so I turn around. His face is rigid with anger about to boil over.

"Easy for you to say. You have no one. Daeme is all I have!" he yells at me. There are more footsteps. People can hear him- and they're coming for us. I shrug. This anger had been due any day anyways. But the footsteps are getting louder. Maybe they found the set of parallel corridors.

I pull up my bow long before the first face appears and release the bow without a thought. Marec is still screaming at me about how I wouldn't have the strength to kill him.

He whirls around right as the arrow hits the man behind him. A full grown man. He did not have the starving look from the lower districts nor the superior aura of Districts One and Two. I recall he was from District Eight, textiles.

Another face, the dead man's wife maybe. I don't hesitate to release my reloaded arrow. The good people never wind the Games, I remind myself as I see the look in Marec's face.

"Kill me now," he tells me. I sling the bow over my shoulder and shake my head. Hopefully, he'll catch on that I'm not in a talkative mood. "I'll leave you on your way then."

And he's gone.

* * *

And that's a wrap! Chapter eight, hope you enjoyed it! Please review it if you liked it, or if you didn't like it! Nothing is better than CONSTRUCTIVE critism!!!

Thanks for reading and the next chapter will be out...probably not so shortly...hehe  
Marionettes


	9. Nine

Nine

I travel a long way without seeing anyone else. My belief is that aside from Marec and I, no one else has found this passage. What is bothering me is that I have not seen any source of water. Marec is gone barely twelve hours and I'm already missing him. Daeme, too, is constantly on my mind.

If not the cameras surely on me, I would talk to myself for sure. But they are, so I don't. Five deaths. It surprises me that no so many people go mad in the arena. The weight of killing someone, I find, is quite taxing. Every night I have go to sleep thinking that somewhere, a family is crying because of me.

I have not seen Marec. I do not really expect to see him either. I know better than that. The audience must despise me right now. No matter, some other competitor would most certainly pick me off.

I keep moving. I don't know if anyone else has found the other set of tunnels but it's no time to find out. Surely Marec has gone back to the main set. The arena is a remarkable feat. They must have been planning this arena for many years, certainly since Mellark and Everdeen rebellion had been sedated.

Not five days in the arena and I had already counted thirty dead by day three. I lost track after that. The death toll was massive. About 40% of those deaths were not due to other tributes. Starvation, dehydration, old age even. At point, I was only watching for faces in the sky. I saw a lot of old people, a lot of young people and a lot of children.

Another cannon fires. Its past noon and I am beginning to tire. Dehydration is finally getting to me. The Gamemakers are cruel people. I am tempted to leave the series of tunnels I am in and wander around the main tunnel system in hopes of finding another water.

Water is, at this point, my only goal. I know at this point that going back to that pool of water where Marec and I had been was impossible. Other might have if they had been in he same situation, but I just cannot bring myself to do it. I am getting severely desperate and I am sure that Odair and Delorus are either wheedling their sponsor resources or laughing to their death at my desperation. Or both. Either way, I am confident that they could get me water. I wonder what the audience thinks. Ironic, isn't it? Coming from District Four, the fishing industry, and here I am dying from lack of water. Dying. Ironic. What a thought.

"Water, damn you Odair," I murmur. The cameras wouldn't catch it up and the audience would never know.

"I suppose I can share," someone says. I whirl around and it is the girl from District Three with whom I had fought with in training. Demarex. She holds out a flask of water. I glance at her. It's poisoned, I think to myself. I should just kill her now and be gone.

"How long have you been following me?" I ask instead.

"Whole time."

I glare at her. "Why?"

"Because you're smart. And you've got the guts to kill someone," she replies. At this point, the cameras that have been following us are surely being shown. Sponsors, and even the audience, would not want to miss this conversation.

"So what if I can kill someone? Every other victor could too. I am no different," I snap back. "What makes you so confident?"

"The water isn't poisoned. Take it," she tells me and shoves the flask back at me. At this point, the lack of water is gnawing away slowly at me and I'd rather die of poisoning then by dehydration so I give her another death glare and take the flask.

"So where is your family?" I ask tentatively after I have concluded that I am not going to die of the water.

"Dead by now."

"Cornucopia?"

"Yes. You must be the person who-"

"Yes."

At this point, we've probably been cut off. After all, what I did was dripping with rebellion. And after the reaping, the Capitol must hate me. So its a good thing that I'm going to die in the arena. Otherwise, my life outside the arena would be living hell- even worse than inside.

"So where to next?" she asks me. I shrug and greedily gulp down another helping of her water.

"Where did you get the water?" I say instead of answering her question. I have no idea where to next.

"Cornucopia," she tells me. "Its the only thing that's useful so far."

"What else did you get from the Cornucopia?" I inquire curiously. She shows me a small container with what looks like iodine. Not useful really, there's no natural source of water. So far, there probably is one in the main set of tunnels.

"Just the iodine, and some other stuff," she tells me. The other stuff being a nice assortment of food, her water flask and a key. A key? What on earth does this key open? The Gamemakers are really stretching themselves this year.

"I bet there are only a few of these keys. I bet they open something important to the arena," I say. She nods. Apparently she had already come to that conclusion. We keep moving exchanging comments between us. Nothing interesting. The cameras would have other places to look at.

* * *

Hehe. Late update. Just as I was uploading ten, I realized that I hadn't added nine, even though I've had it written for some time. So enjoy the double update ^^

Thanks for reading! (review if you've got time!)  
Marionettes


	10. Ten

Ten

"How many people still alive?" she inquires. I shake my head. I don't remember at this point, last time I remember was thirty. I've killed at least five and then there are others that the careers invariably have killed. I'm guessing that there about half, give or take a few more lives. Its almost evening on the third day. I am betting that the most eventful thing that the viewers have seen is the first ten minutes of this year's Games.

"We'll find out soon? I've killed at least five."

"I haven't killed any," she says slowly. Wistfully? Gratefully? Who cares. "What do you think we'll find?"

"Don't know."

"I doubt the tunnels end," she says. Of course. What kind of idiot did she think I was? I play stupid. The sponsors can go to hell. "They probably make a circle. We could get into the main system from anywhere."

"Deadly killers," I murmur. She giggles. She seemed genuinely happy. Carefree even. What a thought. A happy person in the arena. Must have a death wish. I might as well kill her now.

"Lets go back into the main system," she suggests. I consider it for a moment. We'll have to go back there eventually. Should it come down to us, I don't think I could off her in the final moment; and I'd hate to have to do another double suicide. Don't need any more Everdeens looming around. After all, look at what happened to the first.

"Sure," I tell her. She looks surprised; she probably thinks that I think my opinion superior or something. We decide to keep moving till we find another opening between the tunnels. We found it by I judged to be dusk. Can't really tell time when there's no natural sunlight...

Morning and I'm anxiously waiting to get back into the Games. Demarex looks unsettled, but I can't really blame her. We move quickly. Demarex is not very good at moving without a raucous. We'll have to work on it.

"When do you think we'll find someone?" she asks, on the louder side.

"We'll find someone faster if you're quieter," I snap. I am loosing patience at this point. By myself, I could have covered so much more ground but I felt pretty crappy about Marec that I was allowing myself to be generous with this girl.

In all honestly, I'll probably kill her myself if I am in a better mood. I don't know when I will off her but it'll definitely be soon because she is beginning to get on my nerves.

After what seemed like a few hours of trekking, we finally reach another spot to pass to the main corridor system. Wordlessly, I slide the key in and we slip out of shaft.

"What next?" she asks.

"I don't know," I snap back. I know I am being loud but this girl is so idiotic she'd bring the masses running to us anyways. "The other tributes will be here in a few moments. Get ready, and try not to die."

"Why?" she demands. I hear footsteps, not just one set, but multiple.

"Just get ready, damnit!" I nearly shout, patience of the brink of collapsing. I pull an arrow from the quiver and quickly knock an arrow and draw the bow. My muscles remember all those years of shooting. Luckily now is no different.

The first tribute enters from the furthest left of my peripheral vision. My muscles don't quite remember and the sight is off a bit, the arrow hits around his collar bone, which isn't too far from the throat. He clutches the arrow and does manage to pull it out. How convenient, saves me from having to do it later.

"Can you do that again?" Demarex gasps.

"Yes. Shut up and protect youself," I murmur. The cold anger doesn't suit me well but it works on her. The next tribute, a woman in her fifties, appears. I hesitate, stupid, but release the arrow a few seconds later which luckily does hit her neck. She dies in a few seconds. If I would have had to hear her whimper from the pain I don't think I would have been able to hold Demarex back. The girl was too sympathetic.

"How many more do you think there are?" Demarex asks curiously.

"I'm betting three," I say as I let another arrow pierce the air. Another shot on target. The next two were hits and the footsteps stopped. Or at least, they were fainter. Demarex stood there the entire time. Didn't raise anything to protect herself from any possible incoming attacks.

"You're really good," Demarex tells me breathelessly. I glare at her and pull the arrows out of corpses.

"Lets clear out. If you see anything you want, grab it," I tell her coldly. She nods but doesn't take anything.

"Respect for the dead..." she trailed off. I didn't blame her. Being in the arena and watching people die was a much different experience than watching it on a screen a million miles away. It has been an interesting day and I am learning lots about my new best friend Demarex.

"We should keep moving," I tell her after we settle down in a nearby room.

"Why?" she asks.

Because I need to find Marec and Daeme, I think, but I'm not going to tell her that. I don't respond. Someone else responds for me.

"Because she wants to find me," Marec says from behind us. It was a classic coming-out-of-the-shadows moment. I smiled, got up and ran to him. He seemed shocked for a second, then embraced me. The ever-lurking cameras were surely on us now but I don't really give a damn at this point.

"You came back," I whispered into his ear. He pats me on the back and I sigh in confusion, or content perhaps. "Why?"

"I wish I knew," he responds. I can hear Demarex go 'aww' behind us and I'm just twitching to kill her but somehow conjure up the energy to restrain myself.

"Did you find Daeme?" I ask.

Dead, he replies.

Silence

"I must have missed the cannon shot then," I say slowly.

* * *

So yeah. I hope you like the chapter. When I started writing again, it kinda forgot my mastermind plan, but hey it'll still be good. So watch out for the next chapter!

Thanks for reading! (review if you've got time. They're soooooooooo helpful)  
Marionettes


	11. Eleven

Eleven

Marec and I do not talk for a long time. Marec is overcome with grief and sympathy is by no means one of my virtues. Demarex, on the other hand, is a chatter box. I certainly hope the citizens of the Capitol have something more entertaining to watch than Demarex flutter about. If she wasn't an 'ally,' she would be dead.

We finally leave the second system of tunnels- I'm itching to get back into the Games and perhaps kill a few tributes, to put it bluntly. Demarex doesn't know what she is in for, and Marec is on edge about getting back into the fray.

Almost immediately we bodies. It dawns on me that the Capitol cannot retrieve the bodies from this labrynth. It is almost entirely closed off, but still open enough to get gifts to us which is convientent. Aside from the fact that both of my allies are now ill at ease, its not that bad. I count seven bodies. I am guessing about half of the 50-something tributes are dead, or however many there are.

Footsteps.

I knock an arrow and draw the string back, my muscles wavering in anticipation. Flesh comes into view and I loose the arrow. Marec has drawn his sword and Demarex is hiding behind my shoulder- useful isn't she.

The target that falls is not a human- muttation. Fantastic, I think, just what I need right now. Both of my allies are more or less immobile and I get to deal with a pack of half-bull half-man creatures. What a nightmare the Gamemakers have come up with. They truly are wretched-looking and could surely deal great damage if they got too close. Luckily, the bow is a ranged weapon and I'm competent enough with a sword I don't feel too much pressure about my life.

As the now-distant footsteps come closer, I position myself right infront of the tunnel they are emerging from.

"What will we do?" Demarex cries.

"Kill them," I snap. "Now shut up and protect yourself. Or at least get out of my way."

That shuts her up. I feel bad, but not that bad when my arrow skewers one through the next and it falls down in a satisfying crash. The next minotaur stumbles over the fallen one's body. I can't get a clean neck shot which means either I wait for it to get up and possibly closer or risk infuriating it with a mere wound.

"Do something!" Demarex shrieks with the now-apparent terror that seizes her voice. Her panic is seeping in on me and I can feel my arm faltering. Not what I need.

"Shut her up Marec," I mutter. Demarex thinks I just condemned her fate, but all I need is for Marec to take her away to another tunnel, out of reach of the muttations. While he drags her out of the way, I wait for the minotaur to get up so I can get a clean shot through the neck or eye, whichever is an easier target.

I end up going for the eye and the footsteps are no more so I go off to where I saw Marec and Demarex disappear to.

"You told him to kill me!" she declared, as if she was about to throw me into a vat of poison. "I thought we were allies, and you would just do away with me like that!"

"You were making me loose my focus. I needed you to stop shrieking. So forgive me if I ask someone to get you out of the way while I save your lives," I reply coldly. Feeling mildly pissed off at this point, I take put my hand up for the three arrows of mine that she is holding so I can keep going, with or without her.

She looks up at me defiantly and thrusts her hand with the three arrows up into my stomach. The pain is immediate but at least she doesn't remove them so just while she is at the end of the tunnel I am able to loose an arrow at her, however bad of a shot it may be. It lands in her calf and she cries out in pain and falls to the floor.

Marec just looks at both of us. The arena changes people.

* * *

Whoa...that was kinda weird. I didn't really expect the chapter to end that way but...it just came out that way. Demarex is growing up pretty fast in the arena...

Anyways, reviews are welcome with open arms, and are VERY USEFUL when it comes to writing. So if you've got time and something to say, go for it!

Thanks a bunch for reading!  
Marionettes


	12. Twelve

Twelve

"What the hell was that about?" he inquires quietly.

"She stabbed me so I shoot her," I say almost sarcastically. "I gotta sit down and do something about these damn arrows."

"I don't even know how you're still standing," he admits. I shrug. The pain dulls away after a while. We've been walking for about twenty minutes. A little bit of blood slipped out but it would have sucked if she had pulled the arrows out and taken them with her. Since the tips of the arrows were fully embedded in my stomach, I would, or will, have internal bleeding if she'd taken them out. Or, when I take them out.

We find a hallway a tad bit wider that most and set up camp. He tries to manage watching both sides while I set up ourselves for the night and a medical station for myself. Its not easy work but what I end up doing is removing the shaft from the tip and take the shafts out of my stomach. I am tempted to leave the arrows in my stomach and just patch up the flesh wound and call it a day, but I am nervous about an infection.

Since the three holes she made are fairly large and close together, I end up somehow rotating the tips around so the sharp part of the arrow faces outwards and pull them out. It rips my skin a tad bit more, but its nothing that I can't deal with. I know Marec is squeamish and is mentally seething inside at seeing me do this, but there isn't much I can avoid. It'd be worse if I just left the damn arrows in my stomach, shaft and all.

"Ok all done," I say brightly, and just to piss him off, I give him the happiest smile I can manage. He laughs nervously and sits down beside me. "Sit back to back. We can keep an easier watch."

"What about sleep?"

"What about it?"

"We should sleep…" he says slowly. "And eat for that matter."

I pass him one of the four backpacks for him to find something to eat. In a few seconds, he passes me an apple- the literal fruit of his labor- and we sit like this for quite some time. Each one of us taking turns dozing of just to be poked back awake in a matter of minutes, it is painstakingly awful. This arena was genius, but also infuriating. We would be unable to sleep in the main system of corridors.

"We need to keep moving Marec," I tell him.

"I need to sleep," he says impatiently.

"You know we can't sleep here!" I snap. "If you must, we should go back to the other tunnel system."

He sighs, knowing that I am right. We retrace out steps to where we had emerged from the other tunnels. The door locks securely behind us and we lie down on the unfriendly floor and drift into a dreamless trance.

I wake up in the morning feeling neither refreshed nor drained. I can hear Marec's shallow breaths. I gaze upon him, startled by how young he looks. I do not mean to idolize him, but his skin is that of a young, untroubled child. It is smooth and unbroken of a fleshy pink color. We are just children, Marec and I. There are so many people in this arena that are younger than we are and some that are so much older. Some of them, I'll admit, are rotten people. They were chosen for a reason, many of them.

And me? Why did I put this upon myself? Was it worth it? Do I really prize some stranger's life over my own? The thing in one's mind that is the instinctual survival gene inside our bodies, do I even have it?

Which brings me to Thoran Flaxx. Does he get some shred of satisfaction watching Daeme die on the screen? What about Marec? A shiver sneaks up my spine and I feel a gust of wind on my back. I know it is not there, but I cannot help but think of it.

"Are you cold?" Marec asks. I was unaware that he was awake, so lost in my though.t

"No. We should keep moving?" I tell him promptly.

"What were you thinking about?" he asks. I give him a look. "You only look like that when you are thinking really hard about something."

Damn. Now the cameras must be on us; and I don't think it would be in my favor to tell him I was thinking about our reaping. "Why did Thoran Flaxx pick you and Daeme?"

"Did you know my mother? She died a few years back in childbirth," he says slowly. I regret asking because from the look on his face, this is killing him to share with all of Panem. "She was carrying Thoran's father's child. I think it was a still-born, but I'm not sure. My father went absolutely crazy-"

"You think I'd have heard of this…"

"The Peacekeepers kept all of it quiet. My father's execution was covered up like it never happened," he says. Oops. Definitely shouldn't have asked Marec that question. No wonder he was so pissed. Surprise that Thoran chose him. But then, the Flaxx family didn't suffer from this, according the Marec.

Now isn't really the time to ask. After all, Marec has just stated on live T.V. that the Peacekeepers had actively killed someone and hidden the shreds of evidence of it happening.

* * *

Awesome! ...that was a...dramatic chapter.

Anyways, review if you've got time. I'll get the next chapter out faster if you do ^.^  
Speaking of which, the next chapter will be from Demarex's POV. So, feedback and plot ideas for what happens to her will be welcome.

Thanks for reading!  
Marionettes


	13. Thirteen

Thirteen

We fall asleep without any more words. I cannot think of anything to say that will just enrage the Capitol more than I already have and it has finally hit Marec how stupid it was to tell me that. I mean, it is also partly my fault in that I asked the question but asking about the reaping would just have been worse- right?

I wake up, I slept perhaps a good seven hours. Returning to this tunnel is a good idea on Marec's part and I am appreciative for the rest. Marec is still sleeping and I choose not to wake him. Might as well get the extra sleep, it is certainly a gift during the arena. I am surprised that there have been no attacks from the Gamemakers. I mean, there is only so much you can do with this arena. There are no ways to manipulate the natural conditions as there aren't any, but there is definitely room for muttations.

"You look so serious when you're in thought," Marec says. I am startled he is awake but say nothing. "Shall we keep moving?"

"Sounds good to me," I reply as we make out way out of the tunnel back to the main arena. "Do you remember how many people are left?"

"No idea," he tells me. "Do you feel bad about killing Demarex?"

"She's not necessarily dead," I retort. "And no, I don't. She's the one who stabbed me to begin with."

He says nothing. "How's the wound?"

I shrug. Its doesn't hurt but it's not like I feel good as new. Its just...aches. We continue on in silence and I decide not to stir him up too much.

Action. We aren't getting too much of it at this have wandered around the main corridors for a while longer. I feel like a sitting duck but that can't be helped. The only other way in which we'd be guaranteed for action is to go to the Cornucopia which I would like to avoid.

And then I remember something that I had embedded at the back of my mind. That little unhappy thought that I want to forget. Now is the time to share. "Marec, we need to talk. Realistically."

"Sure, go ahead," he encourages in a lively tone. He thinks I'm going to confess my deep love for him, but it is much more serious than that.

"I can't survive this Hunger Game," I tell him. The cameras are on us so I make an effort to think about what I am saying. "I can't win."

"Why not? You've got the guts, the character and the skills to win certainly," he objects.

I give him a look, then say "Think about it. And once you've thought of why, then I want you to consider how to go about dying. I want you to-"

"I won't kill you myself, if that's what you're going to ask," he tells me abruptly.

"There is no other person in the world that I would like for me to die by," I say quietly.

"I utterly refuse to," he declares. I sigh. At least the idea is on his mind. He'll come to see my perspective eventually. "I know you think I'll change my mind after I've thought about it for a while, but I really won't let me tell you."

"We'll see," I say.

"Well isn't that cute!" someone gushes. She is holding a strung bow taught in a hallway directly across from us. "Too bad you're going to go by my hands."

In a second I have my bow pointed in her direction as well. Luckily I have the better bow and the arrow I loose will reach her faster than hers will reach Marec. I give her my best smile and release the arrow, drop the bow and push Marec to the floor as I collapse next to him.

The girl didn't actually expect me to shoot. Her mistake. It is not a clean shot but I don't really mind. I put her out of her misery pretty quickly and we keep moving.

Yet again another cheery reminder of what an awful person I am. Fantastic.

* * *

Yeah this chapter is shorter. I'm kinda lost as to where to go. The protagonist ain't gonna win, kiddies. Sorry. It's always been that way in case you didn't pick it up.

So I find myself at this fork the in the road. Suggestions are TOTALLY WELCOME.

Again, thanks for reading and I hope you have time to review!  
Marionettes

_postscript - Happy holidays! and check out my other stories if you liked this one!_


	14. Fourteen

Fourteen

I haven't pushed the topic of my death onto Marec any more. At least he is thinking about it, and that was enough. He seems suspicious of me now, as if I am going to deliberately going to try to kill myself, which I wasn't. We move to the Cornucopia. At this point, the days have become a blur and the number dead just looks like squiggly lines in my mind that I must scramble to make sense of. Its becoming maddening and I am ready to give up. Marec needs me, I think.

"I hate this silence," he remarks.

"Shall I sing for you?" I ask him sarcastically.

"Can't we just talk?" he replies innocently. His eyes remind me of the children at the orphanage back in District Four. I can't resist.

"Fine. About what?" I say.

"Tell me about yourself," he requests.

"You're kidding right?" I say. After all this, he wants me to talk about myself. Is he really trying to get us killed? I ignore the comment and we fall back into the uncomfortable silence, for him at least. I am fine travelling silently. For one thing, it ups our chance of survival. Muttations, while here, aren't nearly as common and why attract their attention if it is easily avoidable? And other tributes. Of which there are…I don't even remember at this point.

"What is your favorite color?" he asks after what I believe to be five minutes.

"Orange."

"Why?"

"It reminds me of the color of the sky in the morning. If that sky turns orange for me, it means I've made it another day where I'm healthy enough to get outside to see it," I tell him. Even that innocent question had reminded me of home and the living conditions. Its almost awful how everything has a bleak ending.

A cannon fires. "Another one down. Do you know how many are left?" he asks with such an assertive tone I am almost tempted not to answer.

"No clue. It's really going to become a problem for when we get down to the wire. I have no clue how the Gamemakers are going to drive us together without any natural surroundings, you know?" I tell him.

"Not necessarily," he says, clearly pondering the question. "I'm sure they thought about it. Maybe they designed some of the passageways to close off…"

It made sense. Leave it to Marec to think of something. Of course, this too could backfire on us, me more likely as I had posed the question. What if the Gamemakers hadn't thought of this, and the solution they had thought of was not nearly as innovative as this one? Everything that went wrong would irrevocably be blamed on me. The Capitol sure did like their scapegoats.

"Do you want to rest?" I ask him. He shrugs and we keep on meandering through the arena. Its funny. I do believe that this Quell has been surprisingly clean and not violent at all… or at least, it has been from my point of view. We've in the arena for who knows how long and I haven't even been scathed, aside from Demarex's stabbing which hardly counted. "I feel like something is going to happen."

"Well, we haven't gotten too much action aside from that girl you shot down a few hours ago," he said rather sarcastically. "Can't we get away from the game just for a moment, and have just a pleasant conversation?"

"Like about the weather in District 4?" I retort with equal frustration. His expression gives his thoughts away and I immediately back off and fall quiet. I don't want to drive him away again, I'd miss the company. And to be honest, I need and value his opinions, mostly to keep my own ego in check. Who knows what kind of trouble I'd run into within this arena.

Quite timely in fact, I hear an unhuman screeching coming from behind us. I am not quite sure what it is until I see a wall closing in. Like Marec had foretold, the Gamemakers had in fact designed the arena to close in on itself and rapidly decrease the amount of areas that us tributes could inhabit.

"Run, they'll be coming form all directions and if we wait we'll get smushed," Marec says as I heard him start running the opposite direction already.

"Where do you think they're pushing us to?" I pant once I catch up.

"Cornucopia maybe?" he says. I nod and take a sharp left at the next opportunity, leading to what I hope will be the series of enormous open chambers that I had run into immediately after getting out of the Cornucopia on that fatal moment.

"If we die today, I want you to know that I think we could have easily been friends," I tell him. He nods and we stop wasting breath and instead focus on running. The Cornucopia isn't too far away but we have still got a few staircases to scale and those passageways to run through, provided we don't get lost.

* * *

Yeah this chapter is über short... but at least its an update. :D

Review please? They inspire me to write more frequently/update this story instead of the three others I'm working on (moves in to the top of the queue list I suppose) I really cannot stress how happy reviews make me feel.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter. Should be another soon and boy have I got plans for this story XD  
Marionettes


	15. Fifteen

Fifteen

We make it close enough to the Cornucopia to see it. Like usual, there are 'Careers' there. They don't look too intimidating. If only I could figure out how to kill them off one by one instead without alerting the others to my presence.

"What's the plan?" Marec whispers.

"I'm working on that, have a little patience will you?" I reply.

"As many of you have probably noticed," it was Claudius Templesmith. "The arena has shrunk substantially. The area you are permitted to be in has decreased dramatically. This is because there are only sixteen of you left."

Thank you for that, I think. I really needed to know how many tributes there were left. Sixteen. They'll probably start interviewing families. Normally they start doing that at eight, but since there are so many more of us, they will probably start with sixteen. I'm curious to know the age range of the people left, but it's not like something I can really ask anyone.

"The other tributes will have to somehow end up coming back to the Cornucopia anyways, maybe we could-" Marec began.

"Perfect! We'll wait for someone else to trigger the big bloodshed and I can pick off the stragglers," I say.

"Sounds good," he replied. Footsteps. Whosever they are, they are making no effort to disguise themselves. Now that Marec and I are no longer talking, all of the ambient noise becomes amplified in my ears. I can hear the screams coming from the Cornucopia and the clanging of metal. The wailing, my God, the screaming is unbearable. One would think that the younger children would be gone at this point in the game but I cannot imagine an adult making cries that helpless and hopeless and terrified.

The footsteps are louder and I bring my bow up. Marec tenses by my side, apparently still not used to the idea of killing people but that can't be helped. Good people truly never win the Hunger Games. Damn. He deserves it so much. He deserves the shot to live and go back to District Four and live the rest of his life happy.

Except he wouldn't really be happy. His brother died in the arena. I would die in the arena. And if he cares for me as much as he says he does, I doubt he'll get over it. Maybe there's a reason the rotten ones win. They're the only ones with enough guts to go back to their District and have enough insanity to be willing to wake up and live another day.

I snap out of my little musings and focus on life. No point in pondering my future if I lose it now. Which, at this point, I think I will. I see pink flesh coming around the bend and loose an arrow. My eyes aren't fast enough to watch it fly but I certainly see it hit the receiving end. Male, old. I close my eyes as I get close to the wheezing man and carefully slit his throat. I pull the arrow out and return to Marec, head bent and eyes low. I almost wish he didn't have to watch me do this.

"We should…" he trails off. I don't interrupt him and wait for him to say something because the one thing I know is that I don't want to go to the Cornucopia. My gut is really insistent on that one. "I don't know where we should go…but will you give me a kiss?"

Wow. That's a surprise. Didn't think he'd say that. I stand there, mute, for a few seconds and he just leans in anyways. Another surprise. Marec always seemed more passive. I was the aggressive one. His lips are on mine a few seconds later. Soft. Really soft. It's the only thing my brain registers. Split second later I stumble away. Now it's his turn, he refuses to meet my eyes.

"Thanks for asking I guess…" I murmur quietly. He hears me and looks up. I can't tell if he's pissed at me or sad or anything inbetween, even happy maybe. Whatever is in his eyes, its an extreme emotion. I can't help but wish for him to be pissed at me and perhaps pull out his dagger and-

I interrupt myself from my thoughts. I really do have a death wish.

* * *

Yeah this chapter I think is the shortest chapter yet. But it was just a GOOD PLACE to end the chapter. In my mind. I dunno. Review with your thoughts?

PLEASE review. It gives me incentive to post.  
Marion


	16. Sixteen

Sixteen

The tension between Marec and I is… too awful for words I know. And with the pressure on me to think of a plan, I am starting to get stressed out and very frustrated. I almost wish myself dead so I won't have to deal with the pressure, the stress, the confusion and not to mention the self-hatred. Don't even get me started on the self-hatred that I have to put up with throughout this damn Game.

"What are you thinking about?" Marec asks idly.

Boy, wouldn't you like to know? I give him a bit of cold shoulder and leave his question hanging. I feel bad. He probably thinks it is because of that kiss but really, it's just my crappy way of coping with stress. I really cannot get over this stress thing. "Just worried about what's to come," I tell him instead.

"Aren't we all?" he replied, not really listening about my answer. Otherwise he'd probably notice that I was lying through my teeth. A few seconds later, Marec is centimeters away from my face, whispering urgently into my ear, "Let's do something dramatic. So dramatic that the others won't even believe we've done it. Like you getting to the Cornucopia before the gong. Breaking rules that have never been broken. Something unforgettable and-"

I don't even want to hear what he says next. "There aren't any rules in the arena except don't step of the plate for 60 seconds, remember? And I already broke that one… unless you count the no-eating-people rule. Which I am not doing no matter how much you beg."

Marec considers this and then the disappointment flashes across his face. It's a good idea and I wish the Hunger Games had more rules to break but I cannot think of anything for the likes of me.

"Let's make love," he says softly. Wow. Talk about change of direction. "That's going be a first I bet."

"You've got to be out of your mind Marec," I tell him. Something is wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but this can't be the Marec I once knew. "Are you crazy? Not only is that just so wrong, there is no way you could have thought I'd say yes to that."

Marec sighs and doesn't respond thankfully. I have no idea what he'd say in response nor how I would deal with it. His suggestion is just so…startling that I just can't think I'm so overtaken by bewilderment. He confuses me to no end. Maybe the arena has done something to screw with his brain.

Then I see something. A glint in his eye maybe. But whatever it is, it's certainly a change in atmosphere. He reaches for me and I'm almost afraid he's going to rape me or something but he pulls me into a close embrace. I hate myself for even doubting his actions. He grips me too tightly and I am tempted to ask him to lighten up but I don't.

"Move," he whispers into my ear. I am confused for a moment but in a second I get what he means. He throws me to left wall of the hallway and something goes whizzing by my right ear and I hear…some unpleasant noise and a whimper coming from Marec.

I don't get it at first. I look to Marec in question and only then to I get it. There's an arrow embedded in his chest right to the fletching. I don't react. I don't do anything. I just stare numbly at the feathers, now turning a magnificent maroon-red color. It reminds me of the sunset, or sunrise, in District 4. Right when it dips below the sea on a cloudy evening, or dawn. I almost smile then I make the connection.

"No, no, no, no," I start whispering to my self, repeating the word over and over until it feels foreign in my mouth. Then I make a second connection. There is a third person here. I whip around and give whoever it is my harshest glare. My bow is inches away from my grasp, leaning against the wall and arrows just as close.

In one practiced and fluid movement I grab my bow, knock an arrow, aim and release. I don't even look at who is there. What they look like. How old they are. I don't care at this point. The grief has yet to hit me and any hint of emotions except anger riddle my thoughts. I see them fall and turn my attention back to Marec, who has somehow managed to prop himself against the wall. His head is tipped back and I can see the muscles in his neck are strained.

"You fool," I whisper. He is still vaguely conscious. "How does it feel?"

"Numb, but would you give me a kiss?" he says. I smile and move my face inches away from his. I can feel his shallow breaths and I hesitate. He gulps and closes his eyes, either out of anticipation or of pain or something else. Not wanting to waste the moment, because let's be honest, he doesn't have that many left, I lean in and kiss him. His lips are just as soft as before.

This time, he moves away. "Am I a bad kisser?" I tease.

"Perfect. Just perfect," he says, smiling. "I think I love you, you know."

"Now isn't really the time for indecision," I tell him. His breath, no longer shallow, comes in heaves. Loud enough that I can hear it when I'm a respectable distance away from him. "So how come you're not crippled over in pain?"

"I love you," he says. "And if you love me as much as I love you, you'll put me out of my misery."

The panic in my eyes must be easy for him to read but he doesn't say anything about taking back what he meant. He must have really meant it. All of it. I feel like it's time for me to confess my undying love for him but I can't bring myself to it.

"You realize that anything I do to you won't be fast or painless," I tell him.

"There isn't anyone else in the world that I'd rather be killed by," he smiles. I could have slapped him for that. For smiling. For meaning it. For making me a murderer. Not that I'm not one already.

"I can't do that," I say firmly.

"You're going to let me die knowing that you don't love me?" he protests.

I flinch. Did he really have to use that on me? I tell him in response, "How about I save you instead?"

"I'd rather die happy, with you, by you," he shakes his head. I am beginning to wonder how much more time he's got left. The blood has stopped and it's quite plausible that if I pulled the arrow out he'd be fine.

"You could live-"

"Don't pull that bullshit on me. This is the Hunger Games for God's sake. There's no way I'm going to live," he says. If he didn't have an arrow embedded into his chest, he would be… really mad. Mad in the physical way. "I want to die now. Happy. With the girl I love. Please. I don't care if you don't want to profess your undying love for me just fucking kill me and put me out of my misery and let me die a happy man."

* * *

In case you haven't noticed, this story is coming to a close. I am aiming for it to be twenty-one chapters. But the story might not make it that far.. (it is called The Last Year for a reason..)

Review? Please? Also, I am kind of tempted to have Marec say her name right before he dies but I dunno. I also don't actually have a name to give her. When I was writing the first chapter, the name I had for her was Rima but I personally believe she has outgrown that name (this is why I try to avoid naming characters early on because it changes the character. In my opinion. If I had named the protagonist in the first chapter this story would have been much different.)

Suggestions are welcome :) but I might just leave the protagonist unnamed so if you do suggest something don't be offended if I don't use it.

Thanks for reading (I hope you enjoyed the chapter)  
Marionettes


	17. Seventeen

Seventeen

If I did nothing, Marec would live just to be slaughtered like an animal. I wanted to save him, but that really wasn't an option his mind. He wanted to die, but that wasn't really an option in my mind. But it was probably the outcome that I would have to deal with.

"How would I live with myself?" I ask him. It seems like an eternity later but it was a few seconds. He doesn't answer but just continues to look at me. The serenity and…calmness in his gaze made me mad. He doesn't answer but I know the answer. What little soul I have will be able to cope with killing, murdering, Marec.

I'm putting him out of his misery. He is asking for it. I try to reason with myself but now isn't really the time and I would hate for someone to sneak up on us and kill him while I was considering killing him. That would be just rotten.

Then came the next problem. "How do you propose I actually…um…"

"Kill me? I don't know. I was thinking suffocation, but I'm not really sure I want to die that way. But it does seem like the easiest way," he says. "You could shoot an arrow through my head maybe… I can barely imagine the pain of that."

"If I aim it right it would be quick," I say. Not that a quick death is really any solace to anyone. But that is just my opinion.

"It'd be fast. So you could get back into the game and win," he grins weakly. "I guess that's the best option."

"Are you really sure you want this?" I ask him one more time. He nods too soon for my taste but no matter. I sigh. No point in arguing with him. I grab my bow and an arrow. I am tempted to sharpen the tip, but… that was just be so unbelievably awkward I don't. I mean, what could be more uncomfortable than watching the girl you love sharpen the tip of an arrow that will be flying through you skull in a matter of moments?

"Ok, well, I love you and I really think you can win this," he tells me. I open my mouth to say something but I don't even get a sound out. "And I'm not asking for a confession. I don't want your pity, in that way. I want your…compassion as a friend, but not that kind of pity. To give me what I want and not mean it. It's the ultimate insult."

He would have continued on explaining but I got the point. Tell me when you're ready, Marec.

I knock the arrow and pull the bowstring back. It feels so natural, like any other kill, but this one isn't like any other kill. This kill is one I don't wan to make. Marec closes his eyes. He tells me he's ready. The quivering in his voice is unmistakable and I want to put the bow down and tell him he's not ready, that I'm not ready. This unforgivable action is… well, unforgivable. But my muscles relax and I'm shouting at my brain not to do it but I do it anyways.

At such close range, the arrow shatters his skull and it's at least half way into his head. He makes this groaning noise and slumps over. I leave the arrow in his head and gut. I don't have the heart to pull it out. The cannon shot brings me back into the Game and I gather up our, my things and move away so the hover craft, or whatever takes the bodies out of the arena, can take Marec out of this place and bring him home.

Or whatever home is left. His parents are dead, that's why it was only Daeme and him going into the arena. Maybe they'll just incinerate his body and bury in the potter's field of District 4. He deserves a better burial than that.

I'm alone now. In the arena. It's just me. No one to talk to, no one to plan with, no one to take care of more importantly. Could I win this? Maybe. Do I want to win this? Not really. I don't want to have to live the rest of my life knowing that I survived the Hunger Games, killing people.

As I run towards the Cornucopia, I try to forget everything. Of course, it doesn't work too well. But I make it to the Cornucopia. There are about seven people there. None of them look like Careers. They are all from other districts. I don't recognize any of them. They are just sitting on the ground chatting amiably.

They notice me right away but don't make a move to fight me, or even acknowledge me as an enemy or a threat. I am curious. I could easily win. I could easily shoot them one by one and just be done with it all. But this… peace intrigues me.

"You're the orphan for District 4?" one of them identifies me. She looks like the oldest. I nod. "I'm Jana. I'm from District 11."

As I get closer, they all look like District 11. The olive skin and dark hair. They're a family. This woman, this woman must be the mother. This must be her family. "Are you the only ones left?"

"I think so," she admits. "Plus you. Now is when the Games get good. This is what everyone is watching. One family rip itself apart."

"How did you survive?" I blurt out.

"The Careers tore themselves apart, I never really got the details but they all wanted to win so they figured to take out the nearest enemy, themselves," she tells me with obvious disdain and disgust. I agree. The fact that someone would take the life of another person so close to them disgusts me. I disgust myself for killing Marec. He is, was, as close to family as I will ever get.

"So now it's just us," she says.

* * *

Yup. The Games are going to come to an end within the next two chapters.

For anyone who doesn't know what a potter's field is, look it up. And find that poem. It is BEAUTIFUL. I 3 it. It's amazing. Poetry at it's finest. Anyways, review? I will love you all forever and after. (it saddens me that I haven't gotten any reviews from the past few chapters)

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter  
Marionettes


	18. Eighteen

Eighteen

Jana's younger children rarely spoke. Instead, Jana and her eldest son and daughter argued about the future of their family. For the first ten minutes of their discussion, my name didn't come up once. After a while, one of them remind the other two that I was to be accounted for. After all, I had just as much claim to a future as they did. Did I really believe that? Not really. But I feel as though it would be inappropriate to speak up. They bickering and arguing reminds me of a war council.

It seemed to be a fairly anti-climactic ending to any Hunger Games. If I were watching this from the Capitol, I would be pissed. If I were a Gamemaker, I would be even more pissed. This was supposed to be their big show, to demonstrate the helplessness of the Districts. And here we are, determining the future of who lives and who dies. We aren't helpless at all. We are fully in control. And that has got to piss the Gamemakers off.

"The longer you argue about this," I finally decide to remind them. "The more time the Gamemakers will have to find a mutation to send in here and rip us all apart."

"She's right," the daughter agrees as they launch themselves into yet another argument. I kind of wish I had just shot them all upon arriving at the Cornucopia. I hate them. I hate this. I really just want them dead. All of them. Their selflessness is despicable.

Finally, I head pounding footsteps coming from the hallways. I stand and grab my bow and arrows. They all look at me and listen and then finally hear it. The youngest children huddle at the ankles of Jana and begin to bawl and complain. It reminds me of the well-mannered behavior of the children in the orphanage, back in District 4. I miss those kids. Not these spoiled, crying, brats.

"Can any of you fight?" I ask them. The all shake their heads. Great. "Then I'm you're last shot."

I laugh a little at the pun, and then die a little when they don't get it. No time to dwell on it because I see the first monster charging straight for us. It is a dog. They're all dogs, of different color with these eyes that stare with a glinting hatred. I have a flashback to one of the many times I've seen reruns of the 74th Hunger Game. They must be the jealous, vengeful eyes of the tributes who have already died.

I mechanically shoot arrows at the incoming mutations. Most of the time, I merely wound them enough to have them stop charging at us. I can hear their yowls. Wrong word. They aren't yowls. They're the screams of the people that the dogs represent. I keep waiting to hear Marec's cry, or Daeme's, or even that bitch Demarex. But I don't hear them yet. The people behind me are wailing with despair. Such great faith they've got in me.

I run out of arrows after shooting all twenty of the ones that I had prior. They are still a substantial amount of mobile, blood-thirsty dogs after us. I forget about Jana and her family and their problems and just focus on me. When it comes down to it, I have just as much survival instinct and a will to survive as any one else.

A slim brown haired dog, really a puppy, starts gnawing on my leg and I try to kick it off, but it's teeth have already penetrated the tendon in my leg and I collapse onto the ground. I grit my teeth, not wanting to yell out but I can feel the dog's teeth on the bone of my leg and scream anyways. Then the pain stops. I mean, my leg doesn't feel any better but it doesn't feel any worse. It's just going numb.

I watch the blood spill out of my leg. I'll probably die of blood-loss in a few minutes. Maybe not a bad way to go but the pain in my leg is really unbearable, for lack of a better word. I look back to the small puppy that just attacked me and decided that it was in the likeness of Demarex. It's a long shot since there were so many other tributes. It really could have been any brown-haired small person.

I keep waiting for one to jump on me and gouge my eyes out and finish me off. Instead, they managed to pull us out of the Cornucopia and surround us on open ground.

The Gamemakers just keep thowing the unexpected at us and I see a young puppy coming out of one of the hallways. Blonde hair. Marec. That's all I can think of. He trots up to me and licks my face and pants and wags is tail. He seems like a regular puppy. I see on his collar they have in fact written 'Marec' on it. Those Gamemakers are real bitches.

Something else catches my eye. A little pouch attached to his collar. I slip it off him and hold it out to the others, too scared to open it myself. Jana drags herself over and takes the bag from my hand and looks at it.

"It's nightlock," she says slowly. "The younger children are too young to remember it, but-"

"Nightlock. The poisonous berries from the 74th Hunger Games," I finish the sentence. Snow must be infuriated with the Gamemakers right now, because they pretty much just guaranteed the most boring conclusion to any Quell ever. That being said, we were just mauled by dogs so maybe they'll cancel each other out. "How many are there?"

"Eight," she breathes a sigh of relief. She throws one berry each in the direction of her maimed and dying children. This must be hard for her. She gives one to herself and then hands one to me. I'm about to gulp mine down when Marec, the puppy version, comes up and licks mine up right out of my hand.

I glare at him. What is the game that the Gamemakers are playing with me? They must have some sort of psychologist saying exactly what it'll take to rip our mental stability into shreds. One by one, I hear the cannon shots go off. Marec dies a few minutes later and it hits me that I just won the Hunger Games.

* * *

Okay, I know I said in one of my other A/N that the protagonist wouldn't win? Well, she was kind of yelling at me in my head to make her win so she did. But there are STILL 2 more chapters left and an author can do a lot to a character in two chapters.

So yeah. That is Eighteen. I hope you enjoyed it, I know I sure enjoyed writing it. Some REAL action for once ^.^

If you've got time, I'd appreciate it if you reviewed :)  
Marionettes


	19. Nineteen

Nineteen

Marec.

His name sounds…unfamiliar to me when I say it aloud. Did I really know this boy? This reflective period could really drive me to insanity. But where would I be without it? The insanity that makes me kill in cold blood, the insanity that makes me not even care about it and the insanity that gets me through every empty day at the orphanage in District 4 is what makes me who I am.

The puppy in my arms is heavy like a cinderblock. His fur feels just as rough. A few minutes ago, he appeared to be a happy little dog. Happy. The word stabs my heart and my throat dries up. Now he's dead.

This void of emotions that is me is lost. So lost. I am surrounded by murderous dogs and have a dead puppy, that represents the only person that has ever cared for me, in my arms. I killed Marec, twice. Jana's entire family is happily at rest, relieved from their pains and I'm stuck living with mine. What a mess. The hover craft doesn't come. I wish I could count the minutes but I can barely get to fifteen without forgetting, or having my mind wander to some other problem that I have.

My leg is still bleeding and I really will die if they don't pick me. I wouldn't mind dying here, but I would feel a little cheated out of a life, one that I didn't really want. But hey, if they're going to give me one, might as well take it. I drag myself over to my pack and look for anything that might be of use, something to tie my leg off so it will stop bleeding at least.

Nope. Nothing that could serve useful, not even scissors to cut something I have. I could use a knife but my hands are trembling in such a way that I hesitate handling anything potentially lethal. If I'm going to die, I won't go out by my own stupidity. I could just try to salvage some lethal weapon and just kill myself that way, but I decide against it. Too gory. Too messy. Too much room for mistake and just end up dying slowly.

It really is ages before I see the hovercraft. It just appears before me. No sound or hint of how the hell it got into the arena. A ladder drops several feet before me, the ultimate taunting. I almost doubt that I can drag myself those few meters. Leaving the canine manifestation of Marec almost seems cruel. And dragging the dead carcass of a dog onto a hovercraft might seem a little weird. Maybe I've lost it. They always talk about the tributes that loose it after they win, Annie Cresta being the prime example. And the titled morphling victors. Is that going to be me? What vicious habit will I pick up? How will the Capitol break me after this?

I really do want to make it to the ladder but I really cannot bring myself to move a muscle. Dragging myself to my pack was hard enough. There is no way I'm going to them. If they want their victor this bad, they are going to have to come to me. My wounded leg is now numb all over, I think my pulse is still pumping too fast from the adrenaline and all I can think of is Marec.

I hear a voice. You are the victor of the 100th Hunger Games. Miss, could we please get you to stand up and approach the ladder? Everything afterwards will be handled by the rebels. Everything afterwards will be handled by the Capitol. You are safe with us. Miss, you need to stand up immediately, or else.

Or else what? Someone has to come down into the arena and carry me up. It doesn't seem too bad. Or maybe it is. Maybe there is some small clause in the rules of the Hunger Games that says if the victor is incapacitated enough, they cannot win. Or maybe not. Who knows.

Next thing I know, there's another hovercraft. No noise, no hint as to where this one came from either. Voices are yelling at me. Get in the hovercraft. You are safe. Stand up, or else. You are the victor of the 100th Hunger Games. Approach the ladder. Get in the hovercraft. Stand up, or else. You are safe. The rebels will be taken care of. The Capitol is being taken down as we speak. You are safe. You are safe. You are safe.

And if I didn't know better, I'd say that's the most bullshit thing I've ever heard.


	20. Twenty

Twenty

I don't want to leave puppy Marec behind. It would be cruel. I gaze at his face, like a mother to her newly born babe. Except my babe just died. A sickening feeling is rising up my throat and I begin to feel naseous. I hear a single pair of footsteps coming in my direction.

"Congratulations on winning the Hunger Games," a man whispered in my ear as he lifted me up, holding me like a young child under my arms. "We're going to get you to safety."

"Nowhere is safe," I mumble. He chuckles a bit and tells me to be quiet, to save my voice for all the interviews that are coming up. I look up at him. His eyes are soft. I look back to where I was just sitting and see puppy Marec lying limp on the edge of the Cornucopia. He could be sleeping. I know he isn't.

"Have a little faith in the Capitol, hun," the man teased. I allow myself the luxury of being carried all the way to the hovercraft. I am surprised that I don't struggle or anything and I am sure the Capitol is relieved that I am not making a big rebellious fuss. Then I remember my leg. It is numb, so I forgot it earlier but now as I look down I see a bloody trail. If I were thrashing about, the blood loss would be much worse. Enough to perhaps kill me.

He stands on the ladder with me. We are frozen to the spot immediately. We are drawn up as the hovercraft rises up. I am afraid that we are going to crash into the ceiling of the labyrinth. I flinch as the hovercraft hits the top but we just rise through it. It's a hologram. I would gasp but I can't move my muscles.

I loose sight of the other hovercraft but I don't really care. Let it be other people's concern. I am tired. I am overwhelmed and my leg hurts like hell. I regain control of my muscles once more and I am promptly led to a very clean white room with just a bed in it. I observe no obvious light source, it's weird. It's the Capitol. I lie down on the bed in spite of the odd room and fall asleep immediately while I wonder what happened to my medical team to fix up my leg.

I wake up what must be the next day. My leg feels…well I can feel my leg. There is a scar where the gash was last night, but it is not real. The scar is a thin, raised bump along my leg. Its too calculated and clean to be the real scar. My medical team must have tampered with it.

The brown haired man from last night sits in a chair in the corner of the room. I feel like I know him but I don't.

"You look familiar," I blurt out. "Do I know you?"

"You look familiar as well," he grins.

"Well, you've probably been staring at my face for the past few weeks," I retort. I throw my hand over my mouth when I realize the arrogance of what I've just said. He smiles at me and laughs a little.

I decide to stay quiet to save myself the embarrassment. He lets the conversation dwindle and we sit in a content silent. He stares at me, looking in on a spectacle. Every now and then however, he glances at the clock. Are we waiting for something?

I want to talk. Overcome by a need for compassion, for human contact overwhelms me yet I stay quiet. I don't want to appear too weak. I scoff at myself, I've just won the Hunger Games. No one could hold a candle to my image on screen. Either the Capitol loves me or hates me. I hate myself so why does it matter what they think?

Marec is dead, I remind myself firmly. In my hazy state of mind, I even begin to doubt whether he really is dead. Did I just dream killing him or was it real? The pain from the last few hours of the Games is real, I know. But the anguish, was it real?

"What are you thinking about?"

A lie ferments in the back of my throat but the truth comes out anyways.

"Sweetie, nothing was real," he says. I can't tell whether his smile is a sadistic smile or a sympathetic grimace. It really could go either way.

I don't reply.

"You still don't recognize me?"

I shake my head vigorously.

"You were too young, I suppose," he sighs. "Do you want to know why I seem so familiar?"

I hesitate, and speak, "Is it worth knowing?"

He hesitates in his turn. "Maybe. I can't be the judge of that. After all you've gone through, no one can put a finger on you. That kind of simulation and I think I might very well have gone insane."

Simulation? What? Like…imaginary? Like, not real simulation? I am confused for a moment. Angered at my inability to comprehend what he means. What secret lies behind the curtain of mystery? Furthermore, what secret lies behind who this man is, and do I even want to know what it is?

"Each tribute was put into a simulation creator which generated an arena for them, depending on what they expected and what they feared. No two arenas were alike. Each, however, held a copy of each tribute. When the tribute died in their own simulation, it triggered a poison to be injected into their bloodstream. Lots of minor details about the beauty of the simulations, but this year has been one of the most successful years," he tells me as if he were talking about the weather. It is despicable.

"How do you know this?" I accuse him.

"I was brought here to tell you," he says.

"Where is Marec?" I ask.

"He is dead," he responds.

"I didn't kill him," I say slowly. He meets my gaze and nods. Already I can feel my stomach settle and my heart beat steady. I didn't kill him. I didn't kill him. And yet he is still dead.

* * *

Writing at school takes longer so updates will be slower, but I WILL update. (I didn't last year )

Hope you enjoy!  
Marionettes


	21. Twenty One

Twenty One

How did she take it?  
Fine. Surprisingly. After all she's been through.  
And what about you?  
She won't ask.  
Her loss.  
I don't want to push her.  
Don't you want her to know?  
No.  
Do what you want. Maybe she'd die happy knowing.  
Ignorance is bliss, or so they used to say.

The monotonous sounds from the train tracks gave me a headache. The longest train ride of my life, back home, to District Four. The end had been a blur as it usual is and I find myself with a headache in a sparsely furnished train car. They had the foresight to give me easy access to a balcony off on of the train cars.

An abrupt knock at the door forces me to rise from my door and be attentive and social. I want peace and quiet for I will have none when I return home. Home.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you had a few seconds to walk with me," the Capitol citizen of unnoticeable features said.

"I have nothing to do," I reply and the attendant gestures for me to pass and walk. We walk in silence for the first few minutes. "You must have something to share with me. Or perhaps something I am to give you. Make it fast please."

"Surely you have time for a leisurely stroll?" the man counters. I consider this and yield and we continue on in silence.

"What do you do in the Capitol?" I inquire of boredom. I have no care for this man or the Capitol but light conversation would be useful to cure the silence.

"I am one of the Gamemakers," he replies.

"Must have been out of work this year. Wasn't much to make," I remark, the words taste a little sour and he sighs in agreement.

"I have come both to share information with you and to deliver something," he sighs.

"Unwelcome gifts, I suppose?"

"Just don't shoot the messenger," he asks. I don't respond and he continues. "I don't know how to start."

"I often start with the truth," I offer.

"Let us go outside. Less chance of this conversation being recorded," he suggests as I turn to the balcony. He follows me in a ponderous silence. My curiosity has been incited and I am eager to hear this unwanted news.

"This part of the country side is very scenic," he says, content. I wish I could have that same peace within myself but my mind and my hand both know things they should know. The eyes cannot un-see the things I've seen, the things I've done to other people. I try not to wallow in my short comings and plus I feel as though this man's visit is important.

"I find it amusing that you call this the country side," I tell.

"Yes well, just a passing remark," he defends himself, though I can tell he doesn't think much of it. "The truth is that the Capitol wants you to be dead. Although the machine you were hooked to simulated the Games, it also did in depth analytical work on your mind. We discovered many things, the most important of which was that you have the capability to take down the Capitol."

"I have no plans to take down the Capitol," I tell him. Whether or not if it is a lie I am unsure but what does it matter. I want him to believe that which will keep me alive. Whether I want to be alive in the long run is a different matter.

"Regardless. I have been sent here to kill you," he sighs.

"Since when do the Gamemakers do the Capitol's duty work?" I inquire. He doesn't answer so I continue, "What is to stop me from running right now?"

"You truly believe you can escape the Capitol? Leave behind the life it's created for you?" he says skeptically and I do believe he is right. I wouldn't leave. I could, but I wouldn't. I know no other life.

"Well, this puts us at a stalemate," I remark. He raises his eyebrows questioningly. "Why haven't you killed me?"

"I don't know. Is there nothing you want to know? I know everything about your conscious and subconscious mind," he says nonchalantly.

"Did I love Marec?" I ask finally. Honestly, I do not wish to know the answer but I feel as though there is an obligation to ask. He nods. Relief floods over me, and I think of another question I have. "Would I have really killed Marec, if he'd been real?"

"You know the answer to that," he tells me, the answer is apparently obvious but I don't see it. "He was just as real to you in that simulation as I am to you. You would kill him. More interestingly, what do you think that says about love?"

"You ask me, you know everything about me," I tell him, too afraid to admit it to myself or perhaps I really just don't know. I hate it, how much they've distorted me. I got myself into this thing with the most generous thought and it's gotten me no where. I've helped my District, but I've killed Marec. Was it worth it? I hope so.

"I won't answer that," he sighs. "I have to kill you. I really do not wish to."

It is beginning to sink in. I would kill Marec. I killed Marec. He is dead. I am capable of loving someone enough to kill them when they were begging for me to. What does that say about me? Do I have a heart, or am I heartless enough to lack the compassion to kill him? We hardly knew each other, did that make it worse? I am unhappy, to say the least. The Gamemaker looks eagerly at my expression.

"I am dreadfully sorry, miss," he sighs and moves towards me. The fight or flight instinct really kicks in and I cringe away. I look away from him and in one abrupt movement, I fling myself over the rails and allow myself to get swept under the train into the unforgiving darkness.

Rebellious to the last minute.  
Does it matter? It's all over now.

* * *

Done. Finally ^.^ Feels good. Please review if you've got time and perhaps check out some of my other stories?

Thanks and I hope you enjoyed the story!  
Marion


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